


Our Yesterday's Dreams

by Vittarius



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Choking, Coming Out, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Haphephobia, Loss of Faith, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, Masturbation, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pillow Talk, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Religious Fanaticism, Roman Catholicism, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Teophobia, Top Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8914117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vittarius/pseuds/Vittarius
Summary: Yuri has serious self-esteem issues and thinks he’s broken beyond repair. That’s were Victor walks in, and he will try to help him with all his heart, even while he’s struggling against a few skeletons of his own.    “Why are you here?”   “Because I hope that one day, life won’t scare me so much.”





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood song:[ Shattered - Trading Yesterday ](https://youtu.be/w_LOOKssMpA)  
> 

**[23.06 PM] Friday, December 2, 2016**

 

The rhythmical clacking of two pair of shoes against the concrete filled the chilly night. The sky was coated with dark clouds, making it impossible to distinguish the stars or the moon, the only lights coming from lampposts or closing shops. It was late, and it showed on the way the men slouched, as if walking a few blocks towards the parking lot were a strenuous task.  
  
“Please,” the first man said, his hands pressed together as in a prayer. “I’m giving you this case because I think you can handle it. Come on. The kid’s been my patient for two months now and he won’t open up. He doesn’t trust me.”  
  
The other shook his head. “I don’t know, Celestino. I was thinking about taking a break. Sort things out. I guess I’m not ready for a new case. Maybe Yakov can’t take it? Have you asked him already?”  
  
“Victor.” Celestino came to a halt, and Victor was forced to do the same. “He doesn’t want Yakov. He doesn’t want _me_. He needs someone younger, someone he feels can understand him. Please accept the case.”  
  
Victor pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat. “Okay, whatever. Just drop the file at my office. I’ll see what I can do,” he sighed.  
  
“I hope it works,” Celestino said with a sad smile, resuming his walking.  
  
“I hope that, too,” Victor admitted. He knew patients referred multiple times were prone to give up and cancel the treatment. They just ended up feeling that their sessions were useless as it got harder and harder to start over with a new therapist. This was probably this kid’s last chance. He wouldn’t try again if Victor wasn’t good enough.  
  
As they walked down the ramp of the parking lot, Celestino cleared his throat awkwardly and Victor winced. He knew what was coming. Every damn Friday, the same words, the same sad face. “So… how are things with… you know?”  
  
Victor practically mimicked Celestino’s words as he pronounced them. He was so predictable. The face was the worst, though. “Everything’s the same. I haven’t made my decision yet.” His reply hadn’t changed in almost a month, and if Celestino noticed it, he didn’t say anything.  
  
“Well,” his colleague sniffed loudly, trying to ease the tension. “Maybe both of you need some time.”  
  
“Yeah, probably,” Victor replied. Empty words, but once again he didn’t feel like sharing. “My car is on the second level. See you next week, Cino.”  
  
“Drive safe, don’t stress too much, and for God’s sake don’t work at home.”  
  
“I won’t,” Victor lied.  
  
“I’ll leave Katsuki’s file over your desk first thing Monday morning.”  
  
Victor rolled his eyes and dismissed Celestino with an annoyed wave. He climbed into his car and slammed the door shut. He had enough problems to be adding a new one to the list. Maybe it was for the best, though. Another excuse to work overtime and pretend he didn’t notice his life slowly crumbling down.  
  
He drove lazily, trying to delay the moment as much as possible. But eventually, he pulled over at his house, getting off the car to pull open the entrance gate. The lights were off, so he kicked off his shoes by the door and hung his coat on the rack, walking silently towards the kitchen. Maccachin was waiting for him with bright eyes, and the moment he saw him, he started jumping and licking his fingers. Victor wiped his hands on his trousers and crouched to rub behind his ears. The hairy poodle wagged his tail and rolled onto his back so Victor could pet his tummy.  
  
“Don’t pet the dog or he will get hyperactive and start barking. Dinner’s on the fridge. I left you some pasta. You’re late again,” said a voice without even stopping for a breath.  
  
Victor tensed and stood up. “I thought you were asleep,” he apologized, but there was no reply. Maccachin whined but he didn’t touch him again. He opened the fridge and found a bowl of spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs. He grabbed a dish from the cupboard, served himself some pasta and put it in the microwave. While he waited for his food to heat up, he walked towards the guest room loosening his tie. He shrugged off his shirt and massaged his sore muscles, his back longing for a real mattress. By the time he returned to the kitchen, wearing a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt, his food was ready. He opened the microwave and grabbed the dish, burning the tips of his fingers. He let it go with a curse and it shattered on the floor, tomato sauce spreading all over the white tiles.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck!” He kicked the fridge and leaned over the sink. He counted to ten and left the kitchen, walking into the living-room.  
  
A small figure was nestled over the couch, the TV showing some kind of ice skating competition. Victor gave two hesitant steps and stopped.  
  
“Mila, what are we doing?” he said with a sigh. “We can’t keep on like this. We need to talk.”  
  
The woman on the couch barely spared him a glance before gluing her eyes to the TV again.  
  
“I need time,” she said simply.  
  
“How much, Mila? Because I’ll give it to you, I’ll keep waiting. But time’s running, you deserve better, you need to find someone who really loves y-“  
  
Mila stood up and walked towards the main bedroom, ignoring his words. Victor hurried after her and seized her arm.  
  
“Mila, this is beyond repair. I’ve made my decision. But have you?”  
  
She turned around and faced him. Her bright blue eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Dried tears had left traces on her cheeks and fresh ones were starting to fall. “How can you say that?!” she yelled. “We can work this out, I know it! You’re just confused! Maybe if we try to-“  
  
“I’m not _confused_ , Mila,” Victor cut her sharply. “I’m not… I’m sorry, but I’m not confused,” he repeated. “You know it’s for the best. This relationship… I mean, look at us. It’s not healthy. We only hurt each other.”  
  
“Do we? I don’t remember hurting _you_ ,” she snapped.  
  
Victor lowered his head. “You’re right. I made a mistake and it’s something I can’t fix. I don’t know how to handle this, but I do know that we can’t go back and made things the way they were before.”  
  
Mila shook her head. “No,” she cried. “Don’t say it.”  
  
He knitted his brow in pain and spat the words. “I’ve signed the papers this morning. So when you’re ready…” He left the phrase in the air. “Just think about it.”  
  
That night, from his improvised bed in the guest room, he heard her cry to sleep.

 

* * *

**[9.47 AM]  Monday, December 5, 2016**

 

Victor sipped his black coffee again, the bitter flavor pleasuring his taste buds. He returned his eyes to the file lying over his desk and flipped the page. There was some missing information, mostly bureaucratic, like _last payment’s date_ or _affiliation number_ , which was completely normal given that this would be Katsuki’s first session with him. It’d been a week already since he had received the file, and he was decided now. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was going to give his everything.  
  
He read again the long list of comments written by Celestino with a finger over his lips, something he always did when he was focused. Besides his more urgent problems, the kid presented traces of a developing anxiety disorder, with an incredibly low self-esteem and lack of confidence. More often than not, he would isolate himself and focus on his studies to avoid socialization. Celestino had underlined the words _hypersensitivity_ , _hypervigilance_ and _self-sabotaging_ , the last one circled with red.  
  
The relationship with his family wasn’t clear. Apparently, his colleague hadn’t had any luck obtaining that piece of information. He hummed as he flipped another page where there was only a paragraph with no more than four lines about the young man's childhood. He’d been born in Japan, but moved out to Detroit at the age of four, with his mother and sister. The reason behind the trip was unspecified. His father had been absent most of his life, but they’ve started talking again sometime during his adolescence. The current status of their relationship was unknown, and it was stated that he’d been especially reluctant to talk about it.  
  
There was a soft knock on the door and he straightened up in his chair. His secretary, Yuko, entered the room with a bunch of files and manila folders pressed against his chest.  
  
“Hey Victor, here are the files you asked for,” she announced happily, dropping the files over his desk and grabbing the empty cup of coffee he’d left there. “Do you want more?”  
  
“Yes. Only half a cup. Black,” he said, stretching his arm and fetching a pen from a drawer. “Thanks, Yuko.”  
  
“No problem. And your ten o’clock is here,” she added.  
  
“Ah,” he checked his wrist watch and his eyes widened when he realized he’d lost track of time reading Katsuki’s record. “Send him in, please,” he said.  
  
She nodded and left the office, “Sure. I’ll tell him that.”  
  
She went back to the waiting room and gestured towards the boy sitting there. “The doctor will see you now. First door on the left.”  
  
The boy nodded and rearranged his clothes before standing outside his new therapist’s office. He sucked in a breath and let it go slowly with his eyes closed. When he felt ready, he knocked on the door and pushed it open.  
  
Victor was waiting behind his desk, and stood up the moment the boy entered his office.  
  
“Hey,” he greeted, offering the boy a bright smile. “Take a seat, please. The lounger or the couch, whatever suits you better. Oh, and you can hang your coat there,” he said pointing towards the rack.  
  
The boy shook his head and sat stiffly over the couch, his hands folded over his lap, his thighs pressed together. He was wearing a blue hooded mac and a gray scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Victor briefly wondered whether the boy was really cold, or simply did not want to take them off, finally deciding for the latter. He had the mini-split on, and the temperature of the room was nice enough for him to be only on his shirt. He mentally took note of that and discreetly turned up the heat a few more degrees, to try and push him out of his comfort zone.  
  
“I’m Victor Nikiforov,” he said sitting in front of his patient. “You can call me Victor, if you want.”  
  
The boy nodded and tugged at his scarf. “I’m Yuri Katsuki.” He stretched out his hand to shake Victor’s but then thought better of it and let it drop softly over the couch.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Yuri Katsuki,” he smiled. “I understand that you’ve been seeing Doctor Ciardini, before he referred you to me. Is that correct?”  
  
“Yes, uh, I had a few sessions but it was hard to talk to him. Not that he was a bad therapist or anything,” he quickly added, his face blushing bright pink. “He was good, really good, it’s just that… that I…uh…” he trailed off and snapped his mouth shut, the blush now extending to his ears.  
  
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Victor assured before the boy could get any more flustered. “You don’t have to tell me about what you talked with the doctor, and I won’t ask either. I was just checking the facts.”  
  
“O-okay,” Yuri stuttered and then clenched his teeth. Damn it, he had started with the wrong foot. He had to take control of their conversation again or he would start misstepping and Victor would see the truth behind his words. He yanked off his scarf and held it with anxious hands. He was sweating and probably his face was red, crap. _‘Why am I so nervous?’_ he asked himself.  
  
Maybe it was the way Victor seemed to understand. He didn’t look at him judgmentally or asked uncomfortable questions. He was there, ready to listen to whatever he wanted to say. And that was terrifying, because he had a lot of things he needed to get out. Or maybe it was because he looked devilishly clever.  
  
There was a knock on the door and the girl that had talked to him back in the waiting room, entered the office. She looked friendly, and for some reason, it didn’t bother him that she was interrupting their session. She smiled at him with kind eyes and approached Victor before leaving a steamy cup in the coffee table between them.  
  
“There we go,” she said, more to herself than to the others. “Do you need anything else?”  
  
“Oh,” Victor mumbled looking at Yuri. “Do you want something to drink?” he offered suddenly as if he had just remembered. “Coffee, tea? Maybe water?”  
  
Yuri shook his head. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”  
  
Yuko bowed her head and left the office, her perfume making his presence linger in the room. She smelled of baby lotion and those apple-scented shampoos he used to love as a child. He briefly wondered if she had any children. She looked like she could be a good mother.  
  
Victor cleared his throat softly, and Yuri averted his eyes from the door, surprised that he’d been staring at it since the secretary had left.  
  
“Oh. Uhm, sorry,” he mumbled, not sure of what he was apologizing for.  
  
“It’s okay. So tell me, Yuri Katsuki,” he started, getting comfortable over his chair and folding one leg over the other. Yuri couldn’t help but notice that pale sliver of skin his movement exposed when his slacks rode up almost imperceptibly at his ankle. He closed his eyes to snap out of his trance and looked away, trying to control the pummeling of his heart. “What brings you here? What do you expect to get from our sessions?”  
  
The easy question. The one every therapist asked as if they hadn’t read their patients’ file previously. He wondered how much Victor knew about his condition, and if Cialdini had told him anything at all. He probably had. Therapists were like this.  
  
Self-control was a talent Yuri thought had mastered, so he used it as an excuse to measure his words. He lowered his eyes and looked at his hands. And then, he started with the speech he had prepared. A part of him thought it was like cheating, that if he planned what he was going to say beforehand, the therapist would never know what was really going on inside his mind. Then again, it wasn’t as if he were lying. It was just… rearranging the facts to deliver them in the best way possible. He thought that it would make him look more normal and less crazy. He unfastened the first two buttons of his coat before speaking. “It’s hard for me to… to form real, deep, long-lasting bonds. It’s hard for me to meet new people and be comfortable with them. I can’t get close to people. I can only manage small talk, nothing authentic. It’s not that I’m shy, because I can talk a lot if I want to. You could say that I’m… selectively shy. Yeah, that,” he ended with a nod to make it believable.  
  
“Selectively shy?” Victor asked, and he sounded amused. “What’s that?”  
  
“I can be ranting for hours about my interests. Seriously, just find something I like and I won’t shut up about it. But as I said, it’s extremely difficult for me to talk to strangers in new environments. Sometimes I can’t talk to them at all. And it’s not that I don’t know _what_ to talk about, it’s that I don’t know _how_. It’s hard for me to find someone I’m comfortable with,” he said again.  
  
Victor listened to him with his lips slightly pursed, using the time to study his patient. He focused mostly on his hands. He’d always thought that the way a person took care of their hands said a lot about them. And the way Yuri had his nails perfectly trimmed but couldn’t stop wrapping his fingers around his scarf, tying and untying knots with the fringes and clutching the pom poms said more than his obviously rehearsed speech. He was a perfectionist, it showed on his nails but also on his impeccably ironed coat without any wrinkles on display, on his tamed hair and his sneakers so clean they seemed new. But the way his phrases were carefully worded, were a clear sign of self-repression. He wasn’t telling the truth, at least not completely. However, Victor wouldn’t call him out on that. Liars hated being caught up on their lies. Yuri was protecting himself, he felt threatened for some reason, and ripping off that sense of security from him would do more harm than good. Victor had to subtly show him that he only had good intentions, until Yuri was ready to speak honestly. He wondered if Celestino had made that mistake and tried to coarse him into telling the truth. He got somewhat mad at his colleague, noticing that the new patient also suffered a much more severe case of anxiety that what his file implied. It was going to be a challenge, but a pleasing one, those that let you satisfied once you’ve solved them.  
  
“Why do you think it’s hard for you to express yourself?” he asked after Yuri finished talking.  
  
_Because I’m afraid of showing my feelings,_ Yuri thought. Just say it. It’s quick, it’s easy, straight to the point. If you say that, he will start talking about confidence and self-esteem, and you know that’s what you need. He raised his head and saw Dr. Nikiforov staring at him with clever eyes, waiting. And he feared that this new therapist, who seemed so young but not because of that inexperienced, would succeed in reading him whole, sooner or later. That he would figure him out before he could do it himself. He realized he couldn’t keep pretending. The man was good.  
  
He clacked his tongue in frustration and really focused on the question. Why was it so hard? What was holding him back?  
  
“I can’t… I can’t _touch_ people. I hate it. I hate being touched,” he admitted. And it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. He was wording for the first time in his life one of his worst fears. He shivered as if the mere thought of it were enough to nauseate him. “If I’m on the bus and someone brushes his arms against mine, I feel… I feel… I don’t know what I feel, but it burns. And it’s not only strangers. Sometimes I can’t even hug my mother. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. How can I be disgusted by my own mother?”  
  
Victor smiled internally, proud that his patient was opening up. His professional ego stirred and purred, knowing that the kid was comfortable enough with him –and only him- to start sharing his secrets. A slightly less controlled part of his mind yelled ‘suck it, Celestino’ shaking its private parts in a rather barbaric way.

“I can assure you it’s not an uncommon condition, and it’s really brave of you to recognize it and say it out loud. We can certainly work on that, to keep the symptoms at its lowest and make it tolerable.”  
  
Yuri clenched and unclenched his fists, and then nodded. His eyes were still roaming over the office, probably in an attempt to avoid looking at the person in front of him. Victor didn’t care, if he preferred it that way he wasn’t going to force him.  
  
“When did you first experience this kind of reaction?” he asked.  
  
“It was… it was almost two years ago. A friend of mine had had an accident, so I was at the hospital with another girl from the same class. We were really worried, but I was especially scared because he was really important to me. This girl noticed it, and she tried to hug me but I pushed her away. I don’t know why I did it. I remember she was _so_ warm. She smelled like the beach,” he added. “We’ve been the whole morning walking by the sea before the accident happened. Her hair was still wet and her skin covered with sand, but even then, the contact wasn’t… it wasn’t unpleasant. But for some reason, it felt wrong. I thought that maybe it had to do with having a friend in the verge of death, but then it kept happening. And now it’s getting worse.”  
  
“How’s your relationship with your family?” he said next, and Yuri frowned. Victor knew the question felt out of the blue, but it was a suspicion he'd had since perusing the young man's file.  
  
“It’s good,” Yuri replied, showing no intentions of elaborating any further. Victor raised both of his eyebrows and stretched his hand to grab his cup of coffee. _Don’t force an answer, just let it come._ He waited patiently, sipping from his mug and staring at the boy through his lashes. Finally, after what felt like ages, he continued, “I get along with my mom pretty well. I talk to my sister through the phone every month and we hang out every now and then.”  
  
Victor knew Yuri was omitting a very important part of the story, and he didn’t want to push him. He had to, though. It was the only way to help him heal. He needed to be able to verbalize what bothered him.  
  
“And your father?” he asked casually. He didn’t add any “you forgot to tell me about…” That would be a lie, both of them knew pretty well that he had purposefully avoided the subject.  
  
“I haven’t seen him since my birthday.”  
  
Victor checked his file. “According to your file, your birthday is on 29th November. That’s a week ago.”  
  
“Not this birthday. Last year’s birthday,” Yuri said with monochord voice, as if it didn’t matter. However, his words came out shaken; his façade was starting to fade. Yuri took off his glasses and cleaned them with a white handkerchief he retrieved from his breast pocket. That would buy him the time he needed to regain his composure.  
  
And… _there_ , Victor thought. He’d found it, the beginning of the ball of yarn. He remained silent, flipping pages of his file until the boy finished with his little act of cleaning his glasses. “Okay. Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.  
  
Yuri didn’t. He shook his head and his eyes wandered around the room, like a deer caught in the headlights. He swallowed audibly two times and rubbed his throat, as if struck by a sharp pain. His hands fisted over his knees and he started rubbing compulsively, pressing relentlessly against his jeans. “He didn’t even call me. Not even once. I saw my sister last Tuesday, for my birthday, you know? She was… okay. Better.” He sniffed, his eyes unfocused, and the movement of his hands now accompanied by a slight rocking. “And she told me… not even looking at me, she just said ‘dad says hi’. And I thought… after a year, the only thing he has to say to me is ‘hi’. Isn’t it funny? Not even ‘happy birthday’ or ‘hey, how are you doing’. He didn’t even have the guts to call,” he snorted bitterly.  
  
“So you think he doesn’t want to talk to you, then?”  
  
“I don’t _think_ anything. I know,” he rubbed his eyes fiercely and then unfastened another button. “He was so upset. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.”  
  
“You’re talking about the last time you saw him, right?” Victor asked carefully.  
  
“Yeah,” he exhaled, his eyes lost somewhere behind Victor’s head. “I told him something, and it was a mistake. I should’ve known, I should’ve kept it to myself. But I thought…I thought it was better to tell the truth.”  
  
“It is,” Victor assured. “It takes courage to tell the truth, but sometimes parents don’t know how to handle it, especially if they find it inconvenient. They think they know what’s best for their children, and underestimate their ability to adapt to the world. Because of this, they send a double message, ‘hey, you should always tell me the truth’ and at the same time they chastise your honesty if it’s something they don’t want to hear. But you should never regret being honest. The truth is always better than a lie.”  
  
“Not always,” Yuri murmured. “Not with this. I shouldn’t… I wasn’t even sure… And what I told him… he was so mad. So mad at me. He told me those were words of the devil, that I was damned and I would be condemned to hell, and he’s right, I’m tainted, I’m a sinner. I shouldn’t have said that.” He was shaking his head, his confession sounding childish as if he were telling a dark secret.  
  
Victor studied his face carefully. His teeth were clenched and his features sharp. He was repressing his emotions, again. And Victor wondered what would happen if he were to push him further. So he did. “Why was he so mad?”  
  
“Because I’m bad,” Yuri replied, staring at him intently for the first time in their session and Victor found it difficult not look away, such were the fire in his eyes. “I told him… I told him I was interested in someone. Physically. He was mad and he told me I should wait until marriage, and that I shouldn’t have those dirty thoughts or I would get dragged down by temptation.”  
  
“You are telling me that you were sexually attracted to someone and your father told you it was a bad thing?” he inquired with a frown. Nothing in his file described Yuri’s family as overly religious. He was completely sure now that he was hearing words Yuri had never said before during a session, or maybe at all.  
  
“How wouldn’t it be wrong? It’s in the Bible!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking. He closed his eyes and started reciting almost entranced, crushing the scarf between his hands in a foul imitation of a prayer bead, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it. Therefore-“  
  
“Yuri,” Victor cut sharply. “Yuri, listen to me, you’re 23 years old, there’s nothing wrong with being sexually attracted to someone.”  
  
“No,” Yuri replied shaking his head. “I’m a failure in the eyes of God. It’s not just that. I wasn’t attracted to a random person. It wasn’t just anybody. I’ve fallen in love… with a classmate!” He was now visibly agitated, the movement of his hands hadn’t stopped since he’d started talking about his father, perhaps only increasing in speed and strength. Victor’s brow creased, still failing to see the issue, still failing to see what disturbed him so much. Yuri looked down at his hands with mild surprise, as if they were someone else’s. He pressed them together as if begging for forgiveness, and then whispered the words that made everything clear. “My classmate… _a guy_.”


	2. There Was a Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood song: [Angel by the Wings - Sia](https://youtu.be/UHyTWyAujCw)  
> 

**[21.18 PM] Monday, December 5, 2016**

 

Victor looked at the curtains, thick red velvet than hung in generous folds. Every now and then, they would sway slowly, caressing the floor with soft kisses. In a way, they reminded him of those heavy drapes used in theaters and opera houses. And perhaps, it made sense for it to be that way. After all, what could make a better background for those who used that room as a theatrical stage? Wasn’t that what most people did there? Put on a show? Pretend? Perform speeches they had repeated so many times they had ended up believing them? But not him, he was there to tell the truth.

A soft cough snapped him out of his reverie and he looked away from the curtains.

“Victor,” warned the woman sitting in front of him. “You called me to tell me you needed a session. You said it was urgent, that you needed to talk. And I know I’m supposed to be indulgent and supportive, but I won’t sugarcoat it for you. We’re both adults and you know how it is. If you don’t want to talk, don’t waste my time.”

Victor shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lilia. It’s just a lot to process.”

He twiddled his thumbs, avoiding those piercing green eyes that looked at him like they _knew_.

“A new patient has been referred to me this morning,” he said, as if it wasn’t the big deal. “It’s a tough case,” he added. “It seemed easier at first sight, but now I don’t know if I can do it.”

He breathed heavily. “It’s a clear case of haphephobia. I think it’s because of his father. He’s been chastising him for years to ‘purify’ him,” he said, air quoting his words. “I don’t know what lies had this man implanted inside my patient’s mind, but I can assure you none of them is good. Now he thinks touching other people is a bad thing. For fuck’s sake, he’s only 23! He’s just a kid, but he’s so fucked up. Why would somebody do that to him?”

He leaned forward pressed his hand against his forehead. “But he’s smart,” he whispered. “Too smart for his own good. Because he tries to hide things and I have to tear them off word by word but-”

“Victor,” interrupted Lilia. “I remind you I can’t talk with you about your patients. So if that’s what you were expecting, I’m afraid I can’t help you. If it’s troubling you so much, maybe you should consider referring it to someone else. That’s my only advice. And if you don’t have any objection, I suggest we move on to more pertinent issues.”

Victor frowned. “This _is_ a pertinent issue!” he argued, raising his voice ever so slightly. “Because he’s gay! And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to deal with that!”

Lilia never changed her expression, but stretched her arm and grabbed a stack of papers from her desk. Victor fought back the urge to snatch the papers from her hand and read the things she so carefully wrote during their sessions.

“And why should you treat him any different?” she inquired. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”

Victor shook his head.

“Did he try to make any advances towards you?” she further asked.

“What? Of course not!”

“Then I fail to see the problem, Victor,” Lilia sighed.

“The problem, Lilia? You fail to see the problem? _I_ am the problem!” he said, pressing his hands over his chest. “Can’t you see how personal this case is? When he told me he liked a guy, all I could think of was Mila’s disappointed face when she found out!”

She tapped her pen against the clipboard she so tightly held and pursed her lips. “You can’t interpolate your feelings into your patient’s treatment.”

“I fucking know, Lilia. But it’s easier said than done, isn’t it? Why do you think I’m here?” he yelled.

“It'd be in your best interest to roll back the attitude,” she warned.

Victor huffed and crossed his arms, but lowered his voice. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“If you think that your recently discovered attraction towards men is going to keep you from doing a proper job, refer him, Victor. It would be the best, for you and for your patient as well. I expect you to act wisely.”

“It’s not that. But the kid needs someone to reassure him, to tell him it’s okay to like guys, that things get better… And I can’t do that. I can’t. Because right now I need someone to tell me the exact same things. I promised Mila I would love her for an eternity and more. And things are not going to get fucking better because I can’t keep my word. I still love her, but not in the way she wants.”

Lilia wrote something down in her pad of mystery and Victor almost snapped. He hated that habit of hers. She shouldn’t be taking notes, she should be fucking looking at him while he spoke.

“Don’t you think that what you’re expressing as anger might be actually guilt?” she said then, and she sounded almost bored, as if she’d been forced to say the same words over and over again. And maybe that wasn’t so far away from the truth.

“Of course it’s guilt! I missed her performance because a guy went so far as to wink at me while I was backstage and my best idea was to bang him on her dressing room. How do you think I feel?” He grunted and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I wasn’t even aware that I liked guys until then. I should have kept it in my pants and things wouldn’t be a fucking mess right now.”

“You can’t change how you acted back then,” Lilia said. “And you can’t change the inevitable either. You’ve already said that your homosexuality is far beyond from being only about sexual intercourse. You like men. You’ve developed feelings for a man. It was a matter of time. The situation might have not been ideal, but it was bound to happen.”

“Why now, Lilia?” he asked in a whisper. “Why not last year, before promising her eternal love?”

“I can’t answer that, Victor.”

“What am I going to do? She won’t even talk to me. She thinks that I’m confused, that we can work it out, but I know we can’t.”

“Then tell her.”

“I did!” Victor whined. “I signed the divorce a week ago. I found the papers in the trash the morning after.”

“God, Victor, be a man! You can’t toss papers at her and think she’ll magically accept you’re not her husband anymore. She loves you. _You_ married out of love. So stop thinking that you can do this without hurting your wife. You want to steal away in the night and leave no trail? Well, it can't be done.”

“So what I’m supposed to do?”

Lilia sighed and considered not answering. Victor was acting like a child. He wanted his problems solved without thinking on the solution himself. Yet again, it was a desperate cry for help and she could not ignore it.

She’d been Victor’s therapist for a long time, since he was trainee years and years ago. It was a requirement of the health center to do at least a year of therapy, and she remembered Victor’s cocky attitude as if it had been mere months ago. He was one of those fresh graduates who thought that studying psychology meant they’d never have any mental issue since they understood the mind so well. He had soon learned how easy it was fooling oneself.

He never stopped going, even after the required year had finished. With time, the sessions became less frequent, but Victor always called her if he needed to talk. After Victor’s parents had passed away, Lilia had become something close to a mother figure to him. He would ask her for advice, and sometimes they would forget they were supposed to be only a therapist and her patient, and not friends.

When she got divorced from Yakov, Victor was the first one to comfort her. She remembered those long nights of sipping coffee and just sitting in silence. Because she needed to know that someone was _there_ , that she wasn’t alone.

Victor had bumped into Mila then, a second rate actress who worked at the clinic doing dramatherapy for children with autism. Lilia could see why he had been so easily charmed, she was cute. They relationship evolved fast and happy and when Victor called her to tell her he was going to marry, Lilia found herself glad and unsurprised.

Sometimes she would think of Victor as a son, and as every proud mother, she would look forward for a baby to come into the equation. However, the children never came, and she didn’t ask him about it.

As Victor got busier and busier, they stopped talking. They were still friends, though. Even if they had drifted apart.

He contacted her again when he started doubting about his sexuality. He was desperate for salvation, he wanted to stop thinking that way, he wanted everything back to normal. And Lilia could not give him that.

The only way out was honesty.

There was an unspoken agreement between them. Always tell the truth but if you’re not ready to tell it, don’t lie either.

It had worked wonders for them, not even once had she been forced to call him out on a lie. The trust they’d formed was something she cherished deeply, so she went straightforward.

“I think looking for your own place to move into would be the best. Living together is obviously sending mixed signals. She seems to believe it’s not a definitive decision. You’re confusing her by not letting her go.”

Victor’s eyes watered but he blinked the tears away. “Alright. I’ll do that, then.”

“But do it carefully, Victor,” she added. “Don’t be a pig.”

Victor shook his head and Lilia sighed. “Have you talked to Christopher about this? Does he know you’re leaving your wife?”

There was an implicit ‘for him’ at the end of that sentence, and Victor appreciated she didn’t say it out loud.

“No,” he said. “The last time I saw him, I _implied_ him I might do it. But I didn’t have the papers or anything, so it was just an idea.”

“And the last time you saw him… was?”

“Two weeks ago. Mila had another presentation and he was there. I don’t even know why I accepted to see her perform. I shouldn’t have.”

Lilia pursed his lips, thinking. “Did you get intimate with him that day?”

“Yes.”

“And you had those urges to hurt him again?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“He said he didn’t mind,” replied Victor, avoiding the subject.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I wrapped my hand around his throat,” Victor said with some reluctance, remembering the scene. “He was confused. He looked at me and I could see he was scared. But I tightened my grip. I felt his veins swelling, the rush of blood pumping under my fingers. I liked it. I loosened my hand and let him breath for a second before pressing again. Harder. And I never stopped. Not until his face was purple and I was sure he couldn’t be air deprived for any longer.”

“You said you liked it,” Lilia commented in her usual laconic tone, even though she was worried and somewhat horrified. “What do you exactly like of these behaviors?”

She bit her tongue to avoid saying ‘aggressions’, she knew Victor wouldn’t like that.

Victor looked at her and smiled, and for the first time in those five long years she’d been treating him, she feared for his mental sanity.

“Being in control,” he simply said.

 

* * *

**[10.03 AM] Monday, December 12, 2016**

 

Yuri was sure he had seen the telling sparkle in Victor’s eyes last week. It was something he had witnessed in nuns and volunteers, when he used to visit churches with his father in the summer.

It was subtle, but it was there. Just a little glint that meant Victor enjoyed rescuing people. Yuri thought he was good at it, though. In forty five minutes, he had managed to do more than any other therapist.

He wasn’t sure of  _what_ , but the man had done _something_.

‘Why are you trying to save the world, Victor? What are you fighting for? What’s driving you?’ he wanted to ask.

He was like an angel of God sent to save the Earth. It was hard not to imagine him as the protagonist of a Renaissance painting with an imploring hand reaching up to Heaven and smooth wings on his back. And his eyes, the same color of the sky, would be half-lidded, his cherry lips parted and━

A gentle pat on his shoulder made him flinch, and he moved away with a choked gasp.

“Uh, the doctor is ready now,” the secretary said, taking a step back after seeing Yuri’s hostile reaction. “He’ll see you in a minute.”

Yuri nodded and thanked her, starting to walk towards the office. As he had done seven days ago, he knocked on the door and entered the room.

Victor was leaning his hip against his desk, blowing his nose with a tissue. He gestured for Yuri to get comfortable and tossed the tissue into a plastic bin next to the couch. Yuri shivered as he walked in, the office was freezing.

“Sorry about that,” Victor apologized with nasal voice. “The air conditioner is broken. It’s been pumping cold air inside the room the whole morning.”

Yuri shook his head and sat down in his usual place. He was glad to see Victor again. He was glad to be there. That room was their haven, a secret place for them to be safe. Nothing could hurt him if he was with Victor. By his side, he was strong.

“Alright,” the therapist said, walking around his desk and sitting in front of him. “So, how was your week?”

Honestly? Horrible. It had been a horrible week. He had had six Bad-Thoughts and a Body-Reaction. Seven days to prove himself over and over again how much of a failure he was. He opened his mouth to spill the words, but frowned when he noticed Victor wasn’t looking at him. He looked tense and cautious, almost holding back, and Yuri couldn’t help but wonder if he had done something wrong. He couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much not to get Victor’s fully attention. He realized then, that what he wanted was actually the therapist’s approval. A sudden urge to be a ‘good patient’ and make him proud, made his heart flutter.

“Fine,” he lied. “Great, actually.”

“Why’s that?” Victor asked kindly. _He knows._

Yuri shrugged one shoulder. “I went with my mom to pick a Christmas tree this weekend,” he remembered, just to have something to say. “I told her it was a too early, but she didn’t want to wait. We bought a white spruce. It’s small and a little dry, but my mom thought it was perfect. I think that too.”

“That sounds nice,” Victor commented.

“It was,” Yuri said. That wasn’t a lie. It had been nice. Not enough to compensate for everything else, but nice nonetheless. “Do you have your Christmas tree up already?”

Victor tilted his head, and Yuri knew he had surprised him by asking a question. “No, actually I don’t,” he replied after some time. “I don’t… I don’t really celebrate Christmas.”

“Oh.” That was a quite a revelation. “Are you a non believer, then?”

“Not exactly,” Victor said. “Anything else you want to tell me about your week?” he asked, changing the subject smoothly back to Yuri.

“Not exactly,” Yuri mimicked. He was enjoying that game.

“Alright,” Victor conceded, ignoring the playfulness in Yuri’s voice. “Then maybe we can pick up where we left off last week. You told me you were born in Japan and moved here when you were four.” Yuri nodded. “What do you remember of your childhood there?”

Yuri pursed his lips. “Not much,” he replied honestly. “Mostly places. I could draw my old room, I remember exactly the position of my bed,” he explained and lifted his hands, spreading them in soft motion, as to make his words clearer. “I had a trunk for toys. I remember that too. I remember it was heavy, because when I pushed it against the door, my shoulders would be sore for days.”

“Why would you push it against the door?”

Yuri looked at him as if he’d asked something stupid. “To keep it closed?” he said with a frown.

“Why wanted you to keep it closed?”  

“My mom asked us to.”

“I assume that with ‘us’ you mean your sister and you,” Victor pointed.

“Yes, we would hide there until the worst part was over.”

“The worst part?”

Yuri bit his lip. Victor was supposed to be helping him, he was supposed to make him feel _good_. Then why was he asking those questions? Why was he bringing back painful memories?

But he realized then, that he didn’t mind talking about the past as much as he had initially believed. That wasn’t the problem. He could summon up all the turbulence and pain he’d gone through long ago from the safe distance of time. Like telling a story. And he could even pretend he hadn’t been the main character.

It was the present that stopped him. Telling the full emotional truth of the present was the hard part.

“My father sometimes came home angry.” He saw the worry in Victor’s eyes and tried to clarify. “It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t met Jesus by then.”

“Did he hurt you or your sister?” Victor asked and Yuri got angry. He wasn’t listening! His father wasn’t a bad man!

“No! Of course not!” he snapped.

“Did he hurt your mother?”

Why was he looking at him like that? As if he pitied him? As if━? He didn’t understand!

“Did he?” Victor asked again, this time softer, inviting.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But I don’t remember that. My sister told me when we were older. She said they yelled a lot.”

But his mother had endured that, hadn’t she? In a way, Yuri understood her. Love was possible of making people turn a blind eye to all of someone's faults. Wasn’t that what Jesus had done for them all?

She had put up with all that suffering until it had become too much. And then she had packed her things, grabbed the hands of his two kids and left far away where he wouldn’t find them.

“That’s why we came here,” he confessed. “My mom thought we would be safe here.” He couldn’t suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “But he found us.”

“I was sixteen. School had just finished and I was walking down the front steps, waving off my friends, and then I saw him. I had never been so scared in my whole life. Somehow, it amazed me that I was still able to recognize his face. I hadn’t seen him in almost twelve years, after all. But I knew it was _him_. And I was so scared,” he said again. “I thought he was there to take me away.”

He curled up in a ball, his voice muffled by his knees.

“He recognized me too. That was the worst part. When he locked eyes with me. But he had changed,” he added, and his voice sounded almost joyful. “He said he’d met someone, and that he wanted me to meet Him as well. He told me that he had a demon inside him before, that’s why he acted that way with us. It wasn’t his fault. He said he could help me get cleansed too. That it wasn’t too late for me.”

“Too late for what?” Victor asked. Yuri knew the therapist was hiding his emotions. He was judging him because his mind was clouded with sins and guilt and he couldn’t understand what it was like to feel so pure.

“To be a good and faithful servant, to find God and help Him. I know that when others talk to God, praying that is, they don’t get an answer like I do. But when I ask He always replies. He never starts a conversation though, I have to do that.”

“And do you make a habit of talking to God?” Victor asked, and Yuri couldn’t help but notice the quivering of his eyebrows, as if he was trying to refrain from frowning. He was skeptical, it wasn’t hard to perceive that. It didn’t matter, though. Not everyone was made to be a messenger angel. Such a shame.

“Of course I do. It wasn’t easy at first,” Yuri explained, pressing his palms against the couch and lifting his shoulders in some sort of shrug. “I almost gave up so many times. I had been away from Him for too long and I was corrupted. But He never gave up on me. When I didn’t believe in Him, He still believed in me, that I would return. So, when I finally saw him in all His grace, He offered me a chance to fulfill my most sincere wish and here we are. I got to be what I always wanted.”

“What you always wanted.”

“Yes. I love what I have now, love hearing His voice. I can feel Him everywhere I go - it feels like pure love, like that moment you fall in love but going on forever.”

“So you consider that now, you’re exactly where you want to be.” It didn’t sound like it was a question, or even a statement. It was an accusation. Yuri shrugged.

“Not always,” he admitted. “Sometimes I lose my path, but He guides me back. And He’s right, you know? He always is. I guess that’s why I feel so relaxed with Him in charge. Father knows best, as usual.”

“When you say you ‘lose your path’, what do you mean exactly?” Victor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his fingers under his chin. Yuri wasn’t sure if he liked being so closely watched. Both of them knew what he was talking about, yet Victor was pushing him to say it out loud.

“When I desire things I cannot possess. Things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Sin starts as a thought. And He won’t hesitate to condemn the one who deliberately uses his eyes and mind to awaken his lust so that desire is stimulated.”

“And what do you do when you have those thoughts?” Victor was looking at him intently. Yuri shifted uncomfortably.

“I push them away. I pray for forgiveness. He is always prepared to forgive our sins.”

“Does it work?” Victor asked. “Can you push your thoughts away?”

Yuri’s throat was sore all of a sudden, his palms coated in cold sweat. “Sometimes.”

“What happens if you can’t?”

“He is disappointed. He’s angry. He punishes me in every way I deserve.”

“He punishes you?”

“He tests me,” Yuri corrected himself. “He sends trials to make sure of where my loyalties lie.”

“How does he test you?”

“With temptations. People all around me, sent by Him to torment me, so He can watch my reactions.”

Victor was about to ask what kind of reactions was he talking about, when the first tear appeared.

“I can’t stop these... reactions,” Yuri cried. “I’m scared of what He’ll do to me if this goes on. I can’t- I can’t go back to the way things were before. I try, I swear I try. But all I think about is-” He cut himself off to choke back a sob. “Would you help me?”

_Would you save me?_

“Yes,” Victor said without a hint of a doubt.

Yuri cried harder, but now the fear was smeared with relief. He raised his head and through blurred vision he saw a man who was an angel. His wings were dusty and broken, but his blue eyes had the spark. A dangerous path no doubt, yet he couldn’t be any more certain. He trusted him deeply.

When he looked at him, he felt God. And it felt like falling in love, but going on forever.


	3. Who Was Afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood song: [Creep - Radiohead](https://youtu.be/XFkzRNyygfk)  
> 

**[01.17 AM] Monday, December 19**

 

The bed rocked and hit the wall, rhythmically creaking and matching the movements of the two lying on it. Victor had his hands pressed hard against the mattress as he pounded relentlessly into the man writhing underneath him.

“Do you… like _that?_ Huh? Do you?” he grunted, emphasizing his words with hard thrusts.

The blond man scraped his nails along Victor’s back and nodded. “That’s good. That’s really… Oh.” His panting was interrupted when Victor rearranged his hips, seeking, trying to spot that little precious thing that was hidden in there somewhere. After a few tries, a sharp moan confirmed him that he had, in fact, found the prostate.

Victor smirked and continued to thrust with more strength, hitting that bundle of nerves over and over again at a frenzied pace. He lowered his body, resting his weight on his forearms and pressing their chests together.

“ _Chris,_ ” he breathed.

With this new position, he could feel Chris’s stomach tightening against his own, and he looked with pride at the pink blush tinting his partner’s cheeks. They kissed hard and angry, possessed by demons they couldn’t name, knowing exactly how to move or where to go or what the other wanted. Victor moaned loudly when he felt Chris’s erection poking at his navel, painfully swollen and leaking precome. He craned his neck and sucked a light mark on Chris’s collarbone, one that would fade before morning.

They had agreed after their first encounters that visible marks were not allowed. Chris needed his skin unmarred for his appearance on stage, so hickeys weren’t an option. However, that didn’t stop Chris from digging his nails into the sweaty skin of Victor’s hips as he tried to drag the man deeper into his body, or biting into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

That flipped a switch inside Victor’s head and he pulled out. “On your stomach,” he demanded, his voice hoarse from moaning.

Chris obliged quickly, too close to complain. “C’mon, c’mon,” he groaned, clenching his teeth because his release was _right there_ , he could feel his body coiling with heat and he wanted it so badly.

Victor clacked his tongue when Chris lowered his hand to stroke himself. “Tch. You’re such a bad boy. You just don’t learn, do you? You want me to tie you again?” he asked playfully, seizing his wrists briefly. “Because I will. I'm gonna drive you crazy, then stop, then do it all over again until you beg me to finish this.”

Chris shook his head and fisted the sheets to control his urges. “Good boy,” Victor praised. He bent down and breathed slowly and deliberately down along Chris’s entire spine, eliciting a surprised ‘oh’ from him. “Good boy,” he repeated.

He proceeded to grab Chris’s thighs harshly, spreading his legs to reveal his puckered entrance, already irritated and slick with lube from the previous penetration.

Without any further hesitation, Victor lifted Chris by the hips and reentered him with one brutal thrust. His grip was strong enough to hurt, and the crescent shaped indents appearing over the tanned skin of the blond confirmed so. However, the pain mixed with pleasure had the power of making things more interesting.

Both of them moved in an intoxicated dance of limbs, never making the exact same moves twice, never letting the room go quiet.

It was hard to hold back, to make the moment last. They were completely caught between the madness of the imminent climax and extending a moment none of them wanted to end.

“Slow down,” Chris begged. “I’m going to-”

Victor shushed him with a kiss to his shoulder blades and sped up. “Don’t hold back,” he said when Chris tried to muffle his moans against the pillow. “I want to hear you.”

He buried himself to the hilt and then slowly withdrew until only the tip was inside. He waited patiently until Chris started shifting his hips, desperate for release. “Start begging,” he whispered harshly.

Chris began to throw out a litany of 'please please I need please oh god please so good' and squirmed harder as Victor’s right hand left his hip to travel up and up until it was wrapped around his throat. His whole body arched into the touch like a cat, his eyes flying open the moment Victor started squeezing.

Chris arched his neck back for easier access, a generous offering Victor feasted upon. He was surrendering, without question. Complete and utter blind trust. Not a moment of hesitation.

His heart pounded as he kept begging, his voice starting to crack around its edges, his breath starting to wheeze the more power Victor practiced upon the grip he had on his throat.

“P-please, V-ictor. Please. Pl- -se. -Ease. –Ease,” Chris whined with each thrust, his knuckles white as he fisted the sheets.

He choked on a cough when Victor loosened his grip for a few merciful seconds only to come back with renewed strength.

He was close.

He was relaxed, though. He knew he'd never been in safer hands. So he waited patiently for Victor to let go of his throat, even though he'd been growing light-headed with the lack of oxygen. But Victor never did. He grabbed Chris by the back of his head and pushed his face forward into the pillow, pressing soothing kisses all over his spine. That was enough to send him over the edge, so Chris came biting the pillow with tears blurring his eyes and a smile curving his lips.

Victor’s eyes slid close as he felt Chris shaking beneath him, relishing in the power he had over the other, even if it was just for an instant. A sense of incredible freedom and calm washed over his entire core and he let go, founding his pleasure with a guttural cry.

Once they were both spent, Victor withdrew and stood from the bed. He walked into the bathroom to discard the used condom and returned after a while with a warm cloth to clean the semen drying over Chris’s stomach. As he entered the main bedroom, he noticed that the man had rolled onto his back, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms spread wide as he tried to catch his breath. He had draped the white sheets over his crotch, but his toned legs were still on full display.

Staring at him from above, Victor could almost picture Chris as the mirrored image of a much more depraved version of a crucified Jesus. He had bruises all over his ribs from Victor’s iron grip, and blood on his lower lip where he had split his own skin trying to muffle his cries. His eyes were closed, giving him a peaceful expression that Victor knew, was far from angelical.

Without his consent, his mind traveled towards Yuri and he wondered how a man so fucked up as him could help someone equally troubled like that kid. They were oil and water, a perfect mismatch. He couldn’t imagine his life without sex, without that taste of pleasure that, at the end of the day, was everything he needed. And yet, there was Yuri. So different… so _pure_.

Untouched.

Unclaimed.

“Like what you see?” purred Chris as he rolled onto his side with a mischievous wink. He roamed his hands over his own chest, sighing softly, and the sound was more erotic than the filthiest, loudest moan Victor had ever heard.

He smirked and approached the bed, leaning over Chris and trailing a finger over his tanned abdomen. “Yes. You are perfect.”

Chris snorted and closed his eyes again, letting Victor clean the mess of come and sweat. After that was done Victor lay down on the mattress and wrapped his left arm loosely around Chris’s middle, keeping him close.

“I’ve never asked you. How did you know?” Victor breathed against his nape. His right arm was trapped in an uncomfortable position, but he didn’t care.

“Know what?”

“That I liked you. That I liked men.” He stroked those blond strands, enjoying the feeling where his fingers merged with the shorter part of his undercut.

“I didn’t. I was just impressed by your eyes. Or was it your ass? Probably both,” Chris said slowly and Victor realized he was falling asleep. He really wanted to know, though.

“I’m serious,” he pushed, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t know,” Chris said, slightly annoyed. “It was a leap of faith, I guess. Honestly? I thought you were the new ballet dancer. If I had known you were with Mila, I wouldn’t have done anything.”

“I’m glad that you did.”

Chris turned around and faced him, looking a little concerned. “What’s all this about?”

“Can I stay the night?”

Chris hummed and traced circles on Victor’s stomach absent-mindedly. “And Mila?”

Victor bit his lip and looked away. The ceiling was much more interesting all of a sudden. “Things have been… difficult with Mila lately. We had a fight yesterday and… I just don’t feel like going home.”

Victor heard the bed creak as Chris repositioned himself to lie on his stomach. “Another one? Man, you need to chill. You know, make peace not war and all that crap.”

“I think it’s make _love_ not war?”

“Yeah, well, we’ve been doing a lot of that lately, haven’t we?” Chris said, wriggling both of his eyebrows.

Victor smiled, grateful for the change of subject. He didn’t want to talk about Mila, not until everything was sorted out.

He rested his head against the pillow, locking eyes with Chris and, only for that night, he allowed himself to think that he had everything he needed right there, within his reach.

 

* * *

**[09.57 AM] Monday, December 19**

 

“Come in,” replied Victor when he hear the distinctive knocking on his door. He had high expectations for that session. He’d managed to get the air conditioner fixed and he felt they could really make a progress there, if he played his cards right.

Yuri walked in with some hesitation, as always, before approaching the desk.

“Hi,” he said softly and Victor tried to hide his surprise. It was the first time Yuri greeted him with something that wasn’t a nod. He was smiling in the same way kids did when meeting strangers, not scared but not relaxed enough for a genuine smile either.

“Hey there,” he said back. He decided to go for it and stretched his arm out, offering his hand with an appraising glance. Yuri stood there, frozen, and Victor could almost hear him gulp. They stared back at each other for what seemed like hours, Yuri looking utterly shocked and something else that Victor identified as betrayal.

He finally dropped his gaze and accepted the hand. He was wearing wool gloves, so the whole thing of forcing him into physical contact with a stranger was mostly deflected. It was a good improvement, though, the physical closeness. Even if Yuri looked once more like a deer caught in the headlights, even if it only lasted a second and it was awkward as fuck.

“You’re better,” Yuri mumbled, still standing in front of his desk.

“What?”

“You had a cold. Last week,” he explained, and Victor could’ve sworn that the color blossoming on Yuri’s cheeks was a blush. His eyes weren’t focused on Victor’s face, but lower, so he followed them.

“Oh.” He looked at his bare arms, taking in the fact that he was in shirtsleeves. “Yeah, it was just a sore throat and a runny nose. Nothing serious, it wasn’t here to stay.”

Yuri hummed and dropped over the couch with a slow sway of his arms. “That’s good.”

He was frowning, and Victor detected some discomfort in the way he slouched. “Is everything okay?”

Yuri shook his head and then crinkled his nose. He looked like he wanted to say something but as soon as he opened his mouth, he backed out. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just silly.”

“Whatever it is, I promise I won’t laugh,” assured Victor, lifting his hands. “Unless it’s a joke, then I can’t really promise anything.”

Yuri looked at his hands, fidgeting with his scarf. “You smell different today.”

Victor immediately grabbed the collar of his shirt and brought it up to his nose, sniffling softly. “New aftershave,” he made up.

He couldn’t smell anything different. He wasn’t wearing aftershave at all, not even cologne. But he wasn’t going to say that, what Yuri smelled, was most likely Chris's scent clinging to his skin. He focused on the nature of the statement instead, and how it had sounded possessive, almost venomous.

Something had changed during the week, and Victor doubted it had been a good change. It was evident that Yuri was starting to get attached, and that was synonym of stepping onto a very dangerous ground. He wasn’t sure of what kind of attachment or attraction was feeling Yuri. Maybe it was just idealization in a friendly way. He doubted that, though.

But it didn’t matter. He was already used to these sorts of feelings emerging in the course of treatment, and almost all of them had been totally benign. It was only logical, people had always needed to attach to someone very strongly in order to feel safe enough to open up. It wasn’t any different in therapy.

He decided to drop the subject.

His chair creaked obnoxiously when he stood up to join Yuri at the center of his office. There was an uncomfortable silence, only broken by the sound he made as he walked, and finally, a soft ‘huff’ as he dropped over the cushioned recliner in front of the boy.

The atmosphere was heavy, and Victor guessed he was thinking about the last session. About that cathartic moment and how he had cried for almost ten minutes straight. Was he embarrassed? He looked embarrassed. It was good, though. That thing right there was an authentic reaction, no holding back. They’ve been getting a lot of those recently.

Again, he asked Yuri about his week. And again, he got a vague answer and a question about his own week. He said ‘good’ and moved on without further details.

“It’s hot in here,” Yuri muttered, and Victor allowed himself to think they were walking towards a well deserved success. The scarf and the gloves were swiftly placed over the couch and a button of his coat was unfastened.

Victor didn’t reply to his comment and asked a question instead. “So, how did my suggestion from our last session go? Any progresses?”

“Not really,” Yuri winced. “I tried, but…” He started stretching the index finger of his glove and shook his head. “It didn’t work.”

“That’s okay, it’s good that you tried. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I’ve never been to a dojo before and I guess it’s interesting the whole martial-arts concept, but I’m not sure if I can keep doing it. The class was mostly okay, but then the instructor started giving us orders and every time he came up behind me to adjust my stance or move my arm it was too… much. I had to leave.”

Victor filed the information and nodded. “Maybe we can try with another sport. Do you like football? Football is good to form bonds and meet new people.”

Yuri shook his head. “Well, I’m sure we’ll find something,” Victor assured. “Maybe something less intense. What about swimming?”

“Victor,” Yuri whispered, as if someone might overhear. “You saw it. I couldn’t even grab your hand, how am I supposed to jump into a pool full of strangers? I can’t.” He wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead and opened another three buttons from his coat. “I don’t even know if this is a good strategy. It’s like drinking poison and hoping you will eventually become immune to it.”

“For the record, you _did_ take my hand,” Victor said in a tone he tried to convince himself wasn’t flirty.

“I was wearing gloves, it doesn’t count,” Yuri replied exasperated.

“Want to try again?” Victor offered and it sounded like a bet.

Yuri shifted in the couch, avoiding his gaze, but then nodded.

Victor stood up and approached slowly, almost predatory, but he was actually trying not to be brusque. He thought about crouching in front of him, but that would have been weird, so he just plopped down on the couch by his side. Yuri gasped and held his breath, but apart from that, he seemed quite relaxed.

His hands were resting lazily over his knees, and when Victor ran his index finger over his palm, he barely flinched.

“Is this okay?” Victor asked.

Yuri nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. It was weird, but not entirely repellent. He just needed to get used to it.

“What about this?” Victor pressed his palm flat against Yuri’s, feeling the heat it irradiated. He didn’t wait for an answer before threading their fingers together. Their hands locked like two halves of a whole.

Yuri didn’t withdraw, but his heart started beating faster. The room felt suddenly very _very_ hot.

“Now let me ask you a question,” Victor started. “On a scale from one to ten, one being ‘not at all’ and ten being ‘extremely’, how comfortable are you now?”

Yuri stared at their intertwined hands and heaved a breath, trying to control the storm of unfamiliar emotion in his chest. “Five?”

Victor nodded, he wasn’t expecting any less. “Good.”

Growing bolder, Victor danced his fingers over the pulse point in Yuri's wrist until he was stopped by the cuff. His skin was soft and warm, and Victor tried to tell himself that he was doing it only for professional matters, although he didn’t know how truthful that statement was if he was having fun too.

“Now let’s talk about something you like,” he said, trying to distract the kid. “What about dogs, do you like dogs?”

Yuri twitched under the ticklish touches, but didn't shy away. “Yeah. But I’ve never had one.”

“I’ve got a poodle,” Victor said. “He’s a little shit and he bites me when he’s hungry, but I can’t complain. He keeps me warm in the winter. He’s really hairy so he works like a natural furnace or something.”

Yuri blinked as he listened to his words, and he almost forgot about the hand caressing his wrist. Victor tugged gently at his coat and without much thought, he shrugged it off. He tilted his head and inhaled that foreign scent coming from his doctor. It was strong and unpleasant, he wanted the old fragrance back. He liked that one so much better.

Victor kept talking about his dog, and how he’d wanted for him to have puppies but every time they found him a girlfriend, nothing would happen.

“I guess he’s shy. Or maybe he doesn’t want a girlfriend,” he ended up saying, and Yuri smiled.

He realized then, that he had his eyes closed and that his right arm was pressed against Victor’s shoulder. Surprisingly enough, it felt _good_.

“Let’s measure this again,” Victor said with perfect timing. “From one to ten, how comfortable are you now?”

Yuri wriggled a little, keeping his eyes shut. “Eight.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” praised Victor. His fingers snaked two inches under the sleeve of Yuri’s t-shirt and stayed there, massaging the skin with slow, soothing circles.

Yuri sighed in sheer delight. He felt warm suddenly, almost feverish and there was a fluttering in his gut he couldn’t quite identify. He didn't realize it at first, distracted by the odd heat in his skin and the fact that he was enjoying physical closeness in a way he’d never had. But then, there was a spark of _something else_ , and his eyes shot open wide in abrupt awareness.

No. No no no no no. _No_.

He stood up in panic, shoving Victor off and stumbling back until he hit the desk with a dull thump. His chest heaved with shuddering breaths, hyperventilation a real threat, his heart pounding. His throat felt like it was closing up, barring the passage of oxygen to his burning lungs. He looked at his hands, taking in the fact that he was in just a t-shirt in front of Victor. No no no no.

He threaded his fingers through his messy hair and pulled. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t want to see. But it was _there_ , tenting his pants and…

“It’s your fault,” he growled, voice strained. “ _You_ did this.”

“Yuri…” Victor called quietly, cautiously.

“No, I won’t listen to you. You’re one of them. My father warned me about people like… _you_ ,” he muttered breathily, unable to hide the repulsion showing on his face. He was disgusted not by Victor, but by his own actions. He had let it happen again. “He said they would try to tempt me. T-That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?”

“Yuri, it’s okay, this is normal,” Victor assured, approaching the boy slowly, with his hands raised as if to show he meant no harm.

“No, it is not. I don’t… Get away from me!” he shouted when he noticed that Victor was standing by his side. “You’re evil a-and dangerous. You’re trying to seduce me, to corrupt me. It was you, with y-your body and… and your eyes and-”

“Stop.”

Yuri appeared startled, scared even and his wide eyes didn’t even dare to blink, his whole body motionless as Victor stared down at him.

“Yuri.” His name was spoken gently but firm, and Yuri wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. He had crossed a line, he had said something he shouldn’t have. He clasped both of his hands over his mouth.

“I'm sorry. I-I-I- shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean it that way. I don’t- Please don't be angry. I'll never say that again. I'm sorry. Please. Please forgive me. Just don't be upset with m-”

Victor shushed him and Yuri shrunk in on himself. Victor was sure he heard him gulp this time.

“I'm not trying to corrupt you.”

The words surprised Victor even though he himself was the one who had said them. Was that his true worry? Was he insulted because Yuri may have seen right through him, having spot that indecent desire within him?

Yuri woke up from his raging mind. Victor’s voice pulled him back down to earth and he took the opportunity to consume a deep breath of air, the oxygen filling his lungs and blood. “Of course you're n-”

“Yuri,” Victor interrupted, clenching his jaws before continuing. “I am not trying to corrupt you. Don't ever say that. Ever.”

“I w- wasn't. I swear I wasn't, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I just-”

When had their roles reversed? When had Yuri started comforting him, instead of the other way round?

“Maybe we should end our session early today. You can talk to Yuko for a refund.”

Victor tried to sound cold to hide the wave of emotions flooding his mind. Emotions he shouldn’t be showing in front of his patients. He was pissed off, he had warned Celestino that the case was not for him. Good fucking job, Victor.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri muttered again.

Victor shook his head. The truth hit hard.

He turned around and abruptly left the room, grateful that he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of his inexcusable behavior for another week.

 

* * *

**[08.43 PM] Monday, December 19**

 

Victor sucked one last drag off his cigarette and toed it out in the gravel. He reached for his phone, flipping through the contacts until his thumb was hovering over the ‘C’.

 _No_ , he thought. Even though he wanted to get lost for a while, and two nights in a row would have been wonderful, he needed to come back. He had no clean clothes and he couldn’t keep wearing the same wrinkled shirt anymore. Just for tonight, he told himself.

He opened the door and Maccachin greeted him immediately with a whine and wagging tail. “I missed you too, pretty boy,” he whispered in that baby voice Mila hated so much.

He padded to the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a beer. The whole house was silent, and that was a good sign. The day had been bad enough, he didn’t need an extra headache caused by a fight. He downed the beer in silence, leaning his hip against the counter and massaging his forehead with his free hand.

“Victor?” The question was whispered from the dining room, hesitant, as if afraid of the answer.

“Yeah?” he said. That was it, nothing more, just testing the waters.

“I made dinner for us.” Victor closed his eyes and winced. That thing there was exactly what he was trying to avoid. No kind gestures and sweet voices and talking as if nothing had happened. He had no idea how to take that. He couldn’t just ignore her, and rejecting the dinner was plain rude. He walked into the dining room and noticed that is was barely illuminated.

He hesitated for a few seconds before approaching the table. Mila was standing beside one of the chairs pouring some white wine into a glass. Victor assumed it was for her, but then she proceeded to do the same with another glass.

She had taken a shower because her hair looked damp, and she had even applied some make up. She was wearing a dress and red pumps she usually saved for special occasions. Her toenails were painted.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he looked at the table, somewhat surprised at the spread he found. It looked like Mila had really gone all out, making two different kinds of salad —with and without onion— to go with some steamed chicken. There were mixed vegetables, fresh dinner rolls and a small bowl with soy sauce. He also saw extra utensils, and two plates sitting on the edge of the table, denoting there was likely some kind of dessert, too.

He mentally cursed. Not good, not good.

“What’s the occasion?” was all he managed to say, eyeing the bottle of Chardonnay as Mila placed it over the table.

“Do we really need an occasion to have dinner together?”

Victor didn’t reply, and they took a seat, one in front of the other.

Mila motioned for him to start so Victor began serving himself, and she did the same once he had finished. The beginning of the meal felt awkward, both of them silent, and the more the silence stretched, the more uncomfortable Victor felt. There was something so wrong about the whole thing. They were pretending to be a happy family as if they hadn’t ripped their throats open yelling at each other mere nights ago.

He was chewing silently, just wanting to get over with it when Mila spoke again.

“I got fired last week,” she said, swaying her glass. “Did Christopher tell you that?” she added indifferently, but Victor knew the question was vicious.

He should’ve lied. He should’ve said he hadn’t seen Chris. But as the goddamn masochist he was, he said, “No, we didn’t talk about that in particular.”

“Oh.” She paused with her fork halfway to his mouth and stared at Victor for a second, looking amused. “Well, let me tell you about it, then.” One would’ve thought she was about to recite the libretto of _Anyuta_.

“Mila…” he warned.

The amusement in Mila’s face vanished instantly and Victor noticed one of her hands tightening around the utensil she held. If he’d thought things were uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared to how awkward things had just become now.

“One day you’re Sally Bowles, and the other they say they don’t need you anymore,” she spat.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You weren’t the one who fired me,” she said coldly.

Victor set his own utensils down. The level of awkward was increasing. He didn’t know how to catalogue that new, but it wasn’t good. The divorce was going to be trickier as long as she remained unemployed. Flashes of wage garnishments and debts flooded his mind.

He looked at her with concern, but her face was a mask of nothingness. He may as well have been looking at a stone wall. He didn’t know how to proceed now. He was really hoping Mila wasn’t expecting some kind of reconciliation because of this.

After an impossibly long silence, Mila finally spoke. “Let’s toast.”

“Sorry?” Victor asked.

Mila picked up her glass and held it out to Victor. “Lack nothing: be merry,” she quoted.

Victor tried really hard not to take that in a weird way and just focus on the kindness of the overall act. He lifted his own glass and clinked with Mila’s. He locked eyes with her and took a small sip, sealing the toast.

The wine was easy to swallow, and Victor was giddy and pliant once the dinner was over. He’d never been a good drinker. It was something he never got to change, or maybe he wasn’t interested in changing it at all.

When he finally crashed over the mattress, his numbed mind barely noticed that he was stretched across a king sized bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
